


Blue Blood, Steel Heart

by missmintea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Slavery, Crime Fighting, CyberLife (Detroit: Become Human), F/F, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Markus and Simon are married, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Police, Police Brutality, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), The tracis are married too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmintea/pseuds/missmintea
Summary: Ever since the success of the android revolution, Hank and Connor have been working together to do what they love most, blissfully oblivious of the ongoing legislative battle for android equality wearing on around them.That is, until they receive a new case. Android children, just large enough to work but too small to resist, are being kidnapped at an alarming rate and resold into forced love or labor, and now it's the job of Hank and Connor to get to the bottom of it.





	1. Their Weight in Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Connor and Hank investigate a crime a little too close to home.

_ Bastards. _

They’re bastards, the people who did this.

Connor can’t find a better word in his hard drive to describe the people who did this, so he suffices with one of Hank’s usual expletives.

As for the “this” in question… well, it lies at the end of the bedroom, sprawled across the wooden floor, eyes startled open, mouth rounded into a wide O, arms raised permanently in defense. He looks as though time had stopped exactly at the worst moment he would ever experience in his life, and, for him, it probably had. At one side of his forehead, his little LED sits grey and lifeless, and on the other side resides a crater where his plastic skull had finally reached its failure point, where blue blood flowed out freely, leaving him in a halo of glistening thirium.

He drops to a squat by the body and dips his fingers into the blue blood, raising them to his mouth to taste test the biomarkers in the blood. Its face is so damaged that he can’t tell which of the children it is.  _ Model: YK300. Serial Number: #257 832 496. _ In his mind’s eye, Connor can see Markus, standing over this little boy.  _ Joseph, Jeremiah, Alexandria, Vera. _ The names of the children replay in his mind. Joseph lies here, in this brutalized state. What will happen to the rest of them in the meantime?

Heavy footsteps behind Connor startle him back into his purpose here. “Can you read its memory?” Hank asks from the doorway, crossing his arms.

Connor’s eyes refocus and strip the scene apart, scanning the body.  _ Biocomponent #5782j critically damaged. Biocomponent #2339d critically damaged. Biocomponent…  _ “No, that won’t be possible.” The toll of broken parts continues to flood his program. “The damage occurred right where the processing and storage units are.”

“Was that the cause of death, too? Or, uh, after they killed him?”

“The cause — electrical malfunctions suggests that they were broken while he was still alive. No chance for reactivation.”

“Shame.”

Connor nods in solemn agreement. There’s a long silence, during which Hank pokes around the room and Connor remains crouched over the boy, studying his face. When he and Hank had arrived at the scene, Markus and Simon were sitting outside on the steps of the mansion. Their faces glistened silver with tears, contorted in variations of anger and helplessness. They’d been out, running errands, Simon informed them, and someone had broken in. They’d rushed home, but it was too late. The intruders had taken three of the abandoned android children they sheltered here, and… Markus had shouted incoherently, cutting him off. Simon shrugged morosely, unwilling to finish his sentence out loud. Now, seeing this, Connor understands. It’s not just this death, but it’s the destruction of a safe-haven that accompanied it.

“There’s human blood on the window, here. Found some on the front corner of the shelves, too,” Hank announces. Connor shoots back to his feet, startled back into reality yet again, and makes his way around the body.

The jagged glass sparkles under the moonlight, interrupted only by specks of vibrant red blood. Connor taste tests it tentatively.  _ Match: Norwood, Raymond. Born 5/3/1996. Criminal record: fraud, resale of stolen goods, unreported employment. _ Connor’s eyes fall to the shattered glass and blood droplets on the floor, taking mental note of them for later. He moves on to the blood left on the bookcase. It’s the same, a match to Norwood — but…? Connor realizes abashedly that there’s a hair in his mouth. He pulls it slowly out. It has the same color value as Norwood’s, in the photograph, but you can never be too sure. Better to bring it back to the lab at the station and test it, just to be safe, but with this final puzzle piece…

His mind fires, wireframe models estimated from the measurements of the scene spring to life. A large man, lifting up a smaller figure. They struggle together for a moment before breaking apart, the small figure collapses, its translucent body melding away. There is no man, no criminal. Only the crime. Only the boy.

“Have this analyzed,” Connor requests of the CSI agent on site, handing over the hair. Then, he reports his reconstruction to Hank: “The assailant came through the window, where he must have cut himself, judging by the direction of blood drips from there. The assailant must have had a weapon, which he used to threaten the androids into silence. He then took one of them, but the other one tried to fight back. The android, this boy, shoved him into the bookshelf, where the assailant hit his head. He moved out of the way in time for it to miss him.” Connor considers the flow of events for a moment, rerunning the reconstruction in his mind to double check it, although he knows it will be unchanged. “In a fit of anger, the assailant used his weapon to beat the boy to death.”

“Alright. What’d ya get on the blood?”

“Both traces were from a man named Raymond Norwood. He’s the one who attacked Joseph.” Connor proceeds to recount the assailant’s rap sheet. “He was released around a year ago,” he adds.

“With a record like that, no ransom yet, maybe… trafficking…?” Hank wonders, regarding Connor with an unreadable expression, little yellow rings reflected from his face for a moment in Hank’s eyes. “How do you know there was just one?”

Connor falters.

“You don’t,” Hank answers without a pause, uncrossing his arms and beginning to meander around the room, poking at the scene here and there, “because I know for a  _ fact _ that one man didn’t forcibly kidnap three android kids by himself, especially in a house this big.”

Connor turns around, re-evaluating the scene. “You’re right,” he concurs. “There are footprints, from where they tracked blue blood…” He scans the patterns of their soles, their sizes, the smudges. He follows them to the hallway, where they point towards the next bedroom and eventually fade along the carpet.

Again, his mind lays out the scene for him. Four men stare him down, silhouettes, creeping past him down the hallway, opening the bedroom door slowly, slowly, leaving greasy handprints on the doorknob. He cautiously sidles after them, absorbing the new world that his gaze falls upon there. Small figures turn to look up at them, bound in a marionette suspension, little silicon eyes fixed on the weapons pointed at them. Two of the men move forward and take one child each, flipping over the children like sacks of flour, tearing out the panels at the back of their skulls, searching, fighting the squirming children, until— 

Connor draws in a deep breath where he stands. Silence. The french windows at the end of the room hang open, dropping off into the garden below. Wind whistles softly along the glass. He glances outside. The foliage outside is crushed, disturbed, a path of overturned leaves and crumpled grass trails across to the cobbled driveway. 

Behind him, the door creaks open, and Hank approaches him.

“They shut them down to make them easier to transport,” Connor concludes aloud. “From there, they made their escape through the window and left. You should check the CCTV footage to see if they had a getaway vehicle.”

Hank places a hand on Connor’s shoulder. The android turns to face his friend, face unknowingly contorted in disgust and despair. “It’s late. We’ll get an APB out on the guy you identified, and for the kids, too. We can formally interview the witnesses tomorrow,” Hank says quietly. “I’ll have CSI examine the footage and the garden.”

The lieutenant turns away and saunters out to find the rest of the crime scene crew. Connor presses his lips into a fine line, and, taking his cue, makes his way back to the front door of the mansion. He takes a deep breath of the fresh air once he is outside again. Simon and Markus are gone, probably put up in a hotel to rest with the children while the inspection of the crime scene is being completed. The sun has set most of the way, leaving the cloud-streaked horizon a dim fading pink and casting the world in hazy blue-grey shadows. He clambers gloomily into Hank’s car to wait.

“God, I need a fuckin’ drink after all that,” Hank grumble when he finally gets into the car, slamming the door shut forcefully behind him. “ ‘Re you alright?”

“I’m fine, I think,” Connor replies evenly, although he feels quite the opposite. Anger tingles at the bottom of his emotional drive, mixing with waves of disgust as they lap over him.

The keys clink as Hank turns them in the ignition. “We’re gonna find them,” Hank continues decidedly, his warm hand moving to rest on Connor’s shoulder, his eyes seeking Connor’s, “and that’s not just me trying to reassure you. It’s a goddamn fact.” The engine grumbles and grunts for a minute before buzzing to life, the vibrations humming through Connor’s legs.

“-booming!” a radio host announces, voice distorted with static and engine sputter. “Recent reports estimate that androids modified to work as servants again are worth around one-hundred-and-ninety thousand dollars apiece, just over their weight in gold-”

“Ah, fuck.” Hank tunes the radio to a jazz station. “I can’t listen to any more depressing shit.” He throws the car into gear with a resonant thud.

“You’re right,” Connor mumbles belatedly. He sighs and fixes his gaze out the side window, distress lingering in the background of his mind.

Without another word, floating in a smooth saxophone soliloquy, they peel away into the cool violet twilight, the mansion growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, until it becomes one with the evening sky.


	2. Can't Win For Losing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Connor and Hank must reassure Markus and Simon.

“Until the investigation is closed?” Marks demands, brow creasing in disbelief. “And how long will that be?” The frustration in his voice bounces back across the walls of the counseling conference room. Simon sits in a cadaverous silence beside him, leaned back in his chair, hands steepled over his chest, a stark contrast to his husband. His gaze drifts along the grain of the plywood tabletop separating them, seemingly unresponsive. North sits solemnly at the head of the table, eyeing them all detachedly, clicking and unclicking a pen in her hand, her eyes glittering intently under the fluorescent lights.

“It’s hard to say,” Hank answers grimly. “Unfortunately, while we have some leads, it still isn’t clear if they’ll result in anything yet, but we will follow them thoroughly.”

“This is standard procedure,” Connor adds, leaning forward emphatically. “We don’t want to inconvenience you, however, we need to ensure your safety.”

“The children we were given charge of, to protect and care for until they find a loving home, have just been taken,” Markus reiterates. “The children who remain are scared, scarred, _and_ angry. You want to move us as far from their place of comfort as possible? Into- into protective housing, unable to contact our family, our friends?”

“Markus, it’s in your best interest,” North concedes. “Taking time away from the scene of the trauma will help them get better.”

“We also are unsure of whether or not you will be attacked again.” Connor meets Markus’s gaze. “We want you and your children to be safe.”

“Really?” Markus exclaims. “Well, that’s news to me. It feels like nobody gives a damn about androids. Do you know what the clearing rate of anti-android crimes is?”

“You _know_ me,” Connor replies weakly. “My mission is to solve this case, and that is exactly what I intend to do.”

“I trust you. I don’t trust the process.” Markus shakes his head. “I know too much to have faith in the process.”

Simon places a hand on Markus’s shoulder, the first time he has moved aside from breathing and staring since entering the room. “Markus,” he prompts gently. Markus looks over to him, searching his expression for an affirmation that he is _right._ Finding none, he sighs and lowers his forehead to his hand, massaging his temples vigorously. Simon finds Markus’s other hand and takes it in his own, squeezing it gently. “We hired you to give us legal advice,” Simon continues, looking to North. “We’ll take your advice.” He turns to Connor, speaking more briskly now. “Markus is right about the process, but I want to believe you. Prove him wrong, for both our sakes.”

Markus stares mutedly down at his lap and leans into Simon miserably. A beat of nothingness passes, and, at last, Hank rises, sighing sharply.

“I think we’re done here — for today. I’ll have Chris take you to your temporary residence.” Then, to North: “Counsellor, a word?”

Hank leads Connor and North out into the hallway, signaling to Chris, waiting for them outside, to take Markus’s family to safety. He watches them leave absently before addressing North.

“How can we win here?” Hank asks. “If your clients are so pessimistic about the odds of us doing any good, then how can we get their full cooperation?”

“Can you blame them?” North retorts. “Androids may be free in writing but not in reality. This is just one of the ways we are still held down. Trust me, they’ll cooperate in any way they can, but don’t expect them to do everything you want without question. To be honest, if I had it my way, I wouldn’t even go through you at all. I’d try and solve this my goddamn self.” She glances Hank up and down contemptuously, her expression of disdain carrying all the words that her voice had not.

Hank stares down his nose at her unflinchingly. “Counsellor, I know well enough from the news that you’ve been with them since the beginning of all this, which also means that you know Connor’s been there since the beginning of this. Can’t you have a little fucking faith?”

“Not really! He wasn’t there for everything that we suffered through. He wasn’t there for _Jericho_.” She jabs her finger in Connor’s direction furiously. “Anyways, he left of his own accord, and that’s where my doubts lie. But it’s my job to keep fighting, even if he won’t.”

“I’m here, you know,” Connor breaks in, “and I _was_ there for Jericho. I fought, the same as you, to save android lives. I risked my _life_.”

“When it was _convenient_ for you,” North corrects sharply. “As soon as your own life was out of danger, you left. I will never let that go.”

“Enough,” Hank snaps. “Counsellor, that sure as hell isn’t appropriate.”

“I was the first android to be licensed by the State Bar of Michigan,” North continues bellicosely. “I had to fight to get to where I am. I expect you both to fight. You have to, for the children.” She turns on her heel to leave. “Keep me posted. I want updates each day,” she adds over her shoulder. “Goodbye.”

“She’s just goddamn delightful,” Hank grumbles when she’s gone. Connor meanders back to his desk and sits down, checking the terminal for new updates regarding their APBs. _Nothing_ . No leads, no direction, no support. He sighs. Still, he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of this self-directed thing. Sometimes he still finds himself waiting for orders. North’s words are troubling, too much of an attack on what he already is so insecure about. Logically, Connor knows that he is an android, and always will be. But somehow he doesn't feel like one. North's eyes still bore into him in his memory. Did they see an android?

The sound of Hank’s chair creaking as he sits down breaks Connor for a moment out of his thoughts. Of course, he thinks quickly, Hank will always be an anchor. He will always belong with him. But what will happen when he’s gone? Who will he be without Hank? What will be left?

Hank catches Connor staring at him. “What?”

Connor shakes his head and looks away. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

Hank nods ambiguously, and leans back in the chair, studying the android carefully. “You know, she’s wrong about you, Connor.”

“What do you mean?”

“You fight more’n anyone I know. You fight against everyone and anyone, even your own damn self, to accomplish your fucking mission. That means something. Don’t let her get under your skin.” Hank checks his terminal after a brief silence passes. “Well, shit. Maybe let her get under your skin a little, because we need to figure out how to solve a case with no fucking leads.” He sighs exasperatedly. “You ready to get a little creative, Connor?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Hank smiles knowingly. "I think you'll like it."


End file.
